The Morning
by Map of my mind
Summary: One morning with Natasha and Clint


The Morning

Slowly she came to awareness, woke from the land of dreams where for the first time in months no one had stalked her sleep. Usually her nights were haunted by the men who made her what she is, or the victims they made her kill.

With consciousness comes the realisation that she had overslept. Frowning she wondered if she had had a little too much vodka the night before because she was definitely not a heavy sleeper, but the lack of headache told her there was another reason. Usually she was up before the sun and she could see it now peeking through the blinds, telling her it was about mid morning.

With that thought she sat up, now wide awake not because it was late but because her apartment didn't have blinds it had curtains. Looking around at the unfamiliar room, she saw she was sitting alone, in a double bed. The space was small and almost was empty except for a dresser on the far wall. The room was sparse and clean with military precision, excluding the rumpled sheets.

Of course it was at this point that she realised that her clothes were dotted across the floor (except her underwear, which had somehow found their way onto the ceiling fan), along with someone else's. Someone that was very familiar. Getting up she put on the large t-shirt that was sitting next to her lace bra, and made her way to the door.

All the while flashes of the night before played through her mind making her grin (she would deny it if she was asked) with every memory she uncovered. The smile on his face when he surprised her at her favourite bar, and how only moments later they had left, heading straight for his current safe house. The softness of the touch on her cheek that fingers that callused should not be able to achieve, the way his short hair felt beneath her fingertips, just long enough to tug, and the way their skin felt pressed together, something she had wanted for so long but would never admit to anyone but perhaps him. Then again she was sure he already knew.

That thought made her smile softly as she entered the living area of the small apartment they had chosen for the night.

"Morning Tasha" Clint said quietly without turning around (of course he knew she was there) or looking up from his task over the stove. From the smell of it, it was pancakes and coffee. She had a feeling that she would need that coffee very soon.

It was then that she noticed how stiff his posture was and that he was doing all he could not to have to look at her. No smirk, no sarcasm none of the usual solemn playfulness that was his trademark.

It worried her, normally he was happier when they got to spend time together between missions.

Walking behind and wrapping her arms around his chest, she buried her face between his shoulder blades.

"You got called out on a mission didn't you." It's not a question, just a fact that she knew was coming sooner or later (apparently sooner).

He answers anyway, filling in a few blanks."Got called to Mexico. Surveillance. I leave at one."

That's not so bad, she thought Mexico wasn't far, it wouldn't take long to fly in and out again. If you included the mission it would be 3 days tops.

But he continues and his next words let her understand his bad mood. "Undercover, Coulson said it could be 6 months before finish up there. Apparently S.H.E.I.L.D is setting up a new base of operations."

"Why the hell would they need you there?" The words come out as a growl and she almost grabs the nearest weapon (any weapon would do at this point) to stop in at headquarters just to see what on earth Fury was thinking and if he was still willing to through with it with her blade (or whatever appropriately harmful gadget) at his throat.

Clint as if reading her mind turns around in her arms and pecks her lips and keeping less then a centimetre between them murmurs, "promise I'll make time to call. We'll get through this, just like every other time and I'll be back before you know it."

She takes comfort from his assurance and decides to make the most of the little time they have left. So she grabs his hand and leads him back to the bedroom, breakfast can wait.

She didn't know at the time, or she would have been more adamant about his presence there being unnecessary but that would be the last time she saw him until the Helicarrier incident. And New York.


End file.
